


If It's Not Too Late for Coffee

by kiashyel



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:11:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiashyel/pseuds/kiashyel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Martha Jones and Jack Harkness had conversations over coffee and one time they didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If It's Not Too Late for Coffee

From underneath the floor of the TARDIS console, Jack could hear the Doctor muttering darkly. The Captain’s warm chuckle gave way to roaring laughter when golden sparks began to fly and metallic thudding led to the Doctor’s violent outburst of “bloody hell!”

“Are you sure you don’t need a hand?” Jack yelled, offering his support to the Time Lord yet again.

The Doctor’s head popped up from the gap in the floor grating, his eyes seeming puzzled behind his brain spectacles. “I’ve already got a hand,” he glanced at his appendage in its bubbling container. “Why would I need another one?”

Jack rolled his eyes, “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

“You should always say what you mean, Captain. It’s less confusing that way,” the Doctor stated before disappearing beneath the floor again.

“It’s no use, Jack,” Martha said from the corridor opening on the other side of the room. “The TARDIS is like the Doctor’s wife. He’ll entrust her care to no one but himself,” she gingerly carried two steaming mugs in her hands.

“Thank you, Miss Jones,” Jack said, taking one of the mugs from her. He deeply inhaled the rich aroma of the coffee before cautiously taking a sip. “Blegh!” he cringed. “I think this is yours. I prefer a little coffee with my sugar.”

“Whoops,” Martha exchanged mugs with him. She watched him tentatively taste from the other cup before giving a nod of approval.

“Forget becoming a doctor; you should’ve studied dentistry. Keep drinking your coffee that sweet and your teeth are going to fall out before you’re thirty.”

“Sorry about that,” Martha apologized. “I guess I’ve been going a little overboard with a few things. Sugar was a rare commodity this last year. I nearly ate my weight in chocolate last night.”

“You should come to Torchwood,” Jack told her. “Ianto makes the _best_ coffee on Earth or any other planet. Once you’ve had his special blend, you’ll never want anything else. No offense to your caffeine capabilities, of course.”

“None taken,” Martha waved away his words. She lowered her voice so that there was no chance of the Doctor hearing her and said, “To be perfectly honest, I was trying to get us a glass of water and this is what I got. I think the Doctor still has some work to do before the TARDIS is recovered from the Master’s afflictions.”

Jack shook his head in agreement. They would all need some work, and a lot of time, to recover from the tyrannical rule of the Master.

They sipped their coffee in easy silence before Martha spoke again.

“So…” she drawled languidly. “You’ve mentioned this Ianto bloke quite a few times. He’s pretty special to you, yeah?”

Jack’s dark blue eyes flickered through an array of pensively veiled emotions before his lips spread into a mischievous, leering grin that left Martha feeling wholly disconcerted.

“Yeah, Ianto is pretty special,” Jack finally replied and took another swig of his drink. “And, hey, what about you? Did you meet anyone special this year, this Year that Never Was?”

Martha snorted, “Sure. I picked up _loads_ of guys. You know, in between suturing refugees, dodging the Toclafane, and walking the earth to tell the story of the Doctor. My little black book is filled, let me tell you.”

They laughed together, letting that laughter heal the first of many, many wounds still left gaping.

“Well, you know, Martha,” Jack said as they watched the Doctor emerge and replace the floor panel, “you should have someone. After everything that’s happened, you definitely deserve some happiness.”

She gaped at Jack for a brief instant before the Doctor interrupted the moment.

“Right, Captain,” the Doctor spoke, flipping switches and spinning knobs on the TARDIS console. The structure began to groan and quake and the engines loudly grinded and wheezed. “Welcome back to Cardiff.”

Wordlessly, Jack and Martha rose from their seat and carefully rested the coffee mugs in their place. They walked hand in hand down the incline toward the door until Jack stopped and retrieved his great military coat from the rack. As Jack sorted himself, Martha picked up the Doctor’s long brown coat from its usual resting place and flung it towards him, earning her a flash of a smile.

Jack’s hand rested on the door handle. He paused, wrestling with his desire to stay in the protective core of the TARDIS with the Doctor and Martha and the urge to run full speed back to the Torchwood Hub. He already had in mind a few of the things he wanted to do upon his return.

Finally, the Captain opened the TARDIS door and stepped into the afternoon sunlight, filling his lungs with the Cardiff air.

“It’s good to be home,” he murmured.

* * *

 

Captain Jack Harkness wound his way through the corridors of the reception hall, sidestepping caterers and florists as he moved with a purpose.  He grumbled internally. Why did these places have to be so damned confusing?

“Jack!” two female voices overlapped when calling his name. The Captain spun on his heels and found himself staring down the hallway at Leticia and Francine Jones, each one garbed in the palest shade of pink.

“Oh ho,” Jack chuckled. “Am I glad to see you!” he opened his arms wide to embrace Martha’s mother and sister. “I was just regretting leaving my breadcrumbs at the Hub. Where is she?”

Tish pointed at a door a few feet away. “You were doing just fine on your own,” she patted him on the shoulder then moved toward the closed room. Martha’s sister knocked briefly before opening the door and poking her head into the room.

“Martha, there’s someone to see you,” Tish announced.

“Who?” Martha asked.

Grinning, Tish stepped aside and Jack swung the door open in a dramatic fashion.

“Ta-da!” Jack’s voice rose in a singsong tone. “I knew I heard the song of a nightingale.”

“Jack!” Martha exclaimed. She moved with surprising swiftness in her tulle and taffeta wedding dress and flung herself into his arms. “Oh, it’s so good to see you!” she said, holding him tightly.

Francine quietly informed, “We’ll go check on a few of the arrangements. The ceremony starts in thirty minutes.”

Once they were alone, Jack took a step back from Martha and said, “Let me look at you. Ianto and Gwen will kill me if I don’t give them a full report.”

Martha did a slow turn, letting Jack take note of the exquisite details of her appearance. The gown was lovely, but Martha positively glowed. He had rarely seen her look so unabashedly happy.

“You look gorgeous,” Jack complimented.

“I’m surprised you’re here, Jack,” Martha admitted. “After all that’s happened recently… Owen. Toshiko. I figured Torchwood would be too busy for you to come to my wedding.”

“I’m always onto Gwen about maintaining a normal existence outside the Hub. I figured it was about damn time I took some of my own advice.”

“But Gwen and Ianto couldn’t make it?”

Jack scowled. “No. They really wanted to be here, but we just couldn’t risk everyone being so far from Cardiff. Oh, and speaking of Gwen and Ianto,” he paused to dip a hand deep into a pocket of his long coat.

“A little wedding present from Ianto,” Jack finally produced a hefty brown bag and handed it to the bride.

Martha could smell the bag’s contents without opening it. Her brown eyes widened and she asked excitedly, “Is this Ianto’s special blend?”

Jack’s face split into an indulgent grin and Martha gave a guttural moan of pleasure.

“I have missed this,” she said. “I would almost throw Mickey over for Ianto, just for this coffee.”

“Hey,” Jack replied possessively, “the coffee boy is mine. You can have Mickey Mouse all to yourself. Where is Mickey anyway?”

“I’ll check,” Martha said. She moved to the table and retrieved a small walkie-talkie. Jack laughed uproariously when she spoke into it and said, “Mickey, what’s your location?”

After a moment, Mickey’s reply crackled in the silence of the room. “I’m in the car park. Why? Where are you?”

"I’m still in my dressing room,” she told him. “But I have a visitor here who’d like to see you.”

 “Who’s that?” Mickey questioned.

 Martha smiled. “Captain Cheesecake.”

 “Oi!” Jack loudly objected over Martha’s giggles. He took the communicator from her and spoke to the groom. “Listen here, Mickey Mouse. No matter what your beautiful bride says, it’s beefcake. Not cheesecake.”

 “What are you doing with Martha?” Mickey wondered.

 “Convincing her to run away with me,” Jack answered, giving Martha a wink.

 “Don’t even think about it, Harkness.”

 “No worries, Mickey,” Martha said when she’d reclaimed the walkie. “I’m not his type. He’s got Ianto, so he doesn’t need me. I’ll see you soon.”

 “See you soon,” Mickey responded, a loving note in his voice.

 “For the record,” Jack told her, “I don’t have a type. Now, I’m going to see Mickey before the ceremony starts. Come see me when you’re back from your honeymoon,” he decreed. He tapped a finger to the bag of coffee grounds in her hand and said, “We’ll have a cup of this and you can give me all the lurid the details.” Martha watched him waggle his eyebrows suggestively and she giggled.

 Jack affectionately pressed his lips to her cheek and whispered a heartfelt, “Congratulations, Miss Jones.”

 “Thank you, Captain,” Martha stated and they shared an affable salute before he sauntered out of the room, cobalt coat flowing behind him as he went.

* * *

 

It was still in the inky blue hours before dawn when Martha Smith-Jones heard a muffled crash and gruffly murmured swear phrases coming from the living room of the flat. At first she thought it was Mickey, unaccustomed to maneuvering in their new home in the dark, but her husband of a fortnight was still in bed beside her.

Moving silently, Martha retrieved her dressing gown from the floor and quickly wrapped it around herself before grabbing her U.N.I.T.-grade taser gun from the nightstand. Adrenaline heightened her awareness as moved stealthily down the corridor. She saw a broad shouldered figure hunched over in the darkness and she called out, “Hold it right there! Don’t move.”

“Behold, the beautiful sound of a nightingale,” a well-known voice slurred from the shadows.

“Jack!” Martha exclaimed, reaching out for the lamp on the table next to her. “What the hell are you doing here?! Do you know what time it is? How did you even get in?”

“Locks can’t stop me, Martha Jones,” Jack said matter-of-factly.

As her eyes adjusted to the light, Martha noticed Jack’s swaying stance. His indigo eyes were streaked with crimson and an ugly aubergine welt was recognizable on his prominent, chiseled cheekbones.

“Jack Harkness, what the hell is the matter with you?” Martha demanded angrily.

“Drunk,” came the one word reply. Jack merely shrugged and gave a little silvery giggle.

Martha fumed, too livid to speak. Had she not been so irate, Martha might have remembered she was wearing nothing under her robe. Being practically naked in a room with a drunken Captain Jack Harkness was a dangerous place to be.

“Martha? What’s going on?” Mickey asked as he wandered into the living room, thankfully wearing at least his pajama bottoms under his dressing gown.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” she told her husband.

“Mickey!” Jack shouted suddenly.

“Oi, man,” Mickey said. “What are you doing here?”

Jack spread his hands outward and donned an innocent expression, “Can’t a guy pop in for a visit?”

That was enough. Martha reached for the telephone and announced, “I’m calling Ianto to come get him. Hopefully Jack will have slept some of this off before he get here.”

“Ianto’s gone,” Jack said bluntly.

Martha froze, then returned the phone to its base. “What d’you mean? Ianto’s left you?” She said a fervent, silent prayer that was the reason for Jack’s extreme intoxication. She and Mickey had not received any form of a report – from Torchwood, from U.N.I.T., from any type of governing entity – since the 456 incident had escalated and truncated their honeymoon.

Jack could only shake his head. He sank heavily onto the sofa and Martha watched in horror as two great tears slid from Jack’s eyes. “He’s left me, but not the way you think,” Jack stated.

Martha dropped next to Jack. She rested one hand on his knee and he quickly clung to it, as if it was a life preserver and he was drifting at sea.

“Ianto’s dead,” Jack said with finality. “The 456…”

He was going to explain further, but he couldn’t seem to find the words. Jack turned his head and looked at Martha. Her face crumpled beneath the weight of her tears until the briny liquid began to run down her cheeks.  Seeing Martha cry weakened any remaining ounce of stoicism Jack had managed to retain and he started to cry like a brokenhearted child.

Mickey stood apart, respectful of their grief. His eyes flickered with pain at seeing Jack so full of sorrow, but he had never met the Captain’s beloved Welshman and could therefore muster no grief of his own.

The sun was just starting to rise when Jack and Martha’s tears slowed to a stop. Wordlessly, Mickey strode to the kitchen to turn on the coffeemaker and waited until it was ready. When he returned, he carried three steaming mugs and placed them on the table.

Jack reached for a cup. One result of his immortality was an inability for him to stay drunk for very long and his crying jag had gone a long way toward sobering him completely. The coffee Mickey had offered was capable of bringing him back to normal. He took a sip and savored the familiar flavor, let it soak into his lips and marinate on his taste buds.

“Ianto’s special blend,” Jack whispered.

A hand flew to Martha’s mouth. “Jack, I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think about that. I already had the coffeemaker ready…”

“It’s OK,” Jack gave a bittersweet smile. “Really.”

Martha hesitated to ask, but she needed to know, “Is Gwen alright?”

“Gwen’s fine,” Jack nodded. “She and Rhys are having a baby, actually.” His eyes went dark again. “At least that’s one good thing to come out this godawful mess. Oh, no…” Jack groaned. “You two are supposed to be on your honeymoon!” he slapped a palm to his forehead. “Gwen is going to kick my ass.”

“No worries, boss,” Mickey said. “U.N.I.T. recalled Martha anyway. We got back the day everything ended.”

_“Too late to save Ianto,”_ Jack thought, his mind suddenly formulating a million what-ifs. What if Martha and Mickey had been with them from the start? Would having their expertise at hand have saved Ianto? Could it have saved Steven?

Jack shook his head. He knew Martha was studying him, but he couldn’t tell her what ideas, what memories lingered in his thoughts. He couldn’t tell her about Steven. Jack knew he could never bear the look in her dark, trusting eyes if she ever knew what he had done to save the children of Earth. After it all, Jack could not handle losing Martha too.

The Captain cleared his throat. “Why don’t you go put on some clothes Mrs. Smith? I’m sure your husband wants your... _attributes_ to be for his eyes only.”

Martha’s face flushed hot at remembering she was still naked beneath her robe. “Oh, God!” she exclaimed and clutched the top of the dressing gown closed, mortified at how low it had opened. “Did you know the whole time?!”

Jack hid part of his grin behind the coffee mug. “Not the whole time. Just most of it.” Under Martha’s glare, he admitted, “Yeah, OK, the whole time. Did you think I wouldn’t notice you were going commando? Silk hides very little.”

“I think I need a shower,” Martha shuddered and rose from the sofa, careful to keep her dressing gown closed as she hurried back to the bedroom.

“That’s a nice robe, by the way!” Jack called after her. “Purple suits you!”

“OK, knock it off,” Mickey intervened on his wife’s behalf.

Martha returned a few moments later, completely covered in pajama bottoms and a long sleeved shirt.

“Why don’t you let me fix that for you?” she offered, gingerly touching her fingertips to the cut on Jack’s cheek. “It won’t take but a few minutes.”

“Nah, it’ll heal quickly enough on its own,” Jack declined.

“Why don’t you stay with us for a little while, boss?” Mickey offered, surprising both his wife and the Captain. “We’ve got a spare room. No reason for you to be on your own right now.”

"Thanks Mickey, but no,” Jack replied graciously. “I _need_ to be on my own right now. Besides, you’re newlyweds. You don’t need a third wheel two weeks into your marriage. This time is supposed to be just for you.”

Jack rose to his feet and Martha and Mickey followed suit. He shook hands with the husband and then tightly embraced the wife.

“There’s no need to run away, Jack,” Martha said into his ear.

Jack leaned back from their hug and tenderly placed a hand on Martha’s cheek. “Yes, there is. For a little while, at least.”

The tone in his voice set off alarms in Martha’s head. “Jack, I better see you again soon,” she said threateningly.

Jack placed a kiss on her forehead and said, “Thanks for the coffee,” before he walked out the door without a backwards glance.

* * *

Martha was sitting on the patio overlooking her back garden when she heard a rustle of fabric behind her. Awkwardly, she turned her head to see Captain Jack Harkness, snapping closed the leather strap of his Vortex Manipulator, his long blue coat swishing at the hem.

“The Doctor will have your hide if he finds out you’ve got that teleport working again,” Martha said.

“He’ll have to catch me first,” Jack said flippantly. “Where’s Mickey?”

“Near Coventry, I think. Something to do with the Atraxi. Would you like some coffee?”

“Coffee?” Jack’s tone was suddenly worried. He snatched Martha’s mug from the round table nestled between the two patio chairs. “Prenatal police,” he said, sniffing the dark, brown liquid and confirming it to be the caffeinated brew in question. “I’m confiscating this,” Jack seated himself in Mickey’s customary chair.

“What are you doing with this?” Jack demanded, placing the coffee outside the range of her limited mobility. “You’re not allowed caffeine during pregnancy.”

Martha rolled her eyes. “Come on, Jack. Which of us is the certified physician? I’m allotted a small amount of caffeine a day. It’s perfectly safe.”

Not budging, Jack continued to glare. “Since Mickey’s not here, maybe I ought to call the Doctor and get his ruling on the matter since you won’t listen to me.”

“Don’t even think about it, Jack,” Martha warned. “I’m perfectly capable of handling my own pregnancy. Now quit being such an overprotective git. I already have a husband, a father and a brother handling that position quite well.”

“Sorry,” the Captain apologized and a little hurt flickered in his aged eyes. “Didn’t realize I was overstepping my bounds.”

Martha sighed. “You’re not. I’m just cranky and hormonal today,” she rested a hand on her swollen belly. “I didn’t get much sleep. He kept me up all night, taking kidney shots.”

“He?” Jack raised an eyebrow. A few weeks prior, Martha had not confirmed the gender of her child. The sudden use of the pronoun caught Jack’s attention immediately.

This time, Martha grinned. “Yes, he.”

Jack gave a little exultant cheer. “Aha! Gwen owes me twenty quid.”

“Wait…” Martha held up a hand. “The two of you were _betting_ on my baby?”

“Of course we were.”

“If you keep this up, I’m just not going to ask you,” Martha gave a frustrated groan.

“Ask me what?”

Taking a long pause and a deep breath, Martha finally said, “If you’ll be Owen’s godfather.”

Jack’s eyes glittered proudly and he softly repeated the name. “Owen?”

Not trusting her voice, Martha nodded. “I made the decision awhile ago. Owen Harper saved my life that night at the Pharm. If he hadn’t stepped in front of that bullet, I never would have been alive to meet Mickey on the TARDIS. We never would’ve gotten married and this baby wouldn’t have happened. I’ve been in tough situations before and people have rescued me, but I didn’t know most of them the way I got to know Owen while I was at Torchwood.”

She paused to take another breath. “And once Mickey and I agreed on the name, we decided we wanted you to be Owen’s godfather. Mickey’s family is gone and while mine are well fit to raise him if something were to happen to either of us, they’re not particularly suited to handle the alien things we do. You and Gwen and the Doctor are the only ones Mickey and I would trust to protect Owen in those situations.”

“Please say yes, Jack,” Martha implored.

Jack softly replied, “I didn’t need a long, persuasive speech, Martha. I was ready to say yes the second you asked. Of course I’ll be Owen’s godfather.”

Martha shot a disappointed glance at her distended abdomen and said, “I really want to hug you, but I don’t know that I can get up.”

"Have no fear,” Jack energetically bounded out of his seat and stuffed himself onto her chair with her, squeezing her in an embrace as tightly as he dared. The friends shared their laughter until Martha suddenly groaned.

“Oh…he doesn’t like that apparently. I think we disturbed him.”

Affectionately, Jack splayed his hand on Martha’s stomach and felt her son move inside her. He smiled brightly. “Does being godfather mean I get to spoil him?”

“You’ll have to get in line,” Martha chuckled. “My mother and sister have already bought him enough clothes to last until he turns twelve.”

“As if I would give your son something so ordinary,” Jack scoffed. “I know where I can get my hands on some dinosaur eggs. Do you think Owen would prefer a pterodactyl or a T-Rex?”

Martha howled with laughter, “Oh no, Jack! No! Please, don’t.”

“You said I could spoil him!”

“Not with dinosaurs!”

“OK, fine…” Jack mused. “A saber-toothed tiger maybe? They’re very fashionable. Or maybe a woolly mammoth? No, I’ve got it! Giant squid!”

“Where would we put a giant squid?” Martha demanded in an exasperated tone.

The Captain smiled brightly. “We can figure it out,” he kissed her cheek. “Now, let’s have something besides coffee, something you _can_ drink.”

“I can drink coffee,” Martha refuted.

“Not while I’m around you don’t,” Jack wrenched himself from their shared seat and walked toward the house, knowing Martha would not follow. “I’ll just put on the kettle for some tea, something nice and herbal. And maybe make some biscuits?” his eyes gleamed mischievously.

“Jack Harkness, don’t you dare mess up my kitchen!” she shouted, and the sound of his laughter echoed back in reply.

* * *

 

Captain Jack Harkness parked his black SUV in a long row of cars in front of the Smith-Jones house. Bold with familiarity, he entered the family home without knocking and found himself in a crowd of people he did not know. Removing his sunglasses, the Captain sought a recognizable face and found one in Owen Smith.

Jack suddenly noticed how much Owen looked like his father. The same broad, sturdy shoulders. The same dark eyes. Everything so very similar. Jack continued to study Owen, who cradled his sleeping two year old daughter, Christina, to his shoulder, before finally crossing the room.

"Hey,” Jack greeted quietly his now grown godson. He ran a finger over Christina’s tiny hand and admired the slumbering toddler. Then, he placed a warm hand on his godson’s arm. “How is she?”

Owen’s expression wavered before he replied, “I don’t know. She went straight up after we got back.”

“Have you or Ann been up to check on her?”

Owen shook his head. “No, my sister has been chasing after her kids and mine. John and Alex and Charlie were quite a handful right after the service. Ann took them out to the back garden and…”

“Lined them up for the firing squad?” Jack chuckled, remembering how his goddaughter resembled her formidable grandmother Francine.

Owen managed a grin before he finished, “…is trying to run out all their energy. But I’ll go up once I get Christina settled.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll go see her,” Jack said and mounted the stairs. The noise from below was significantly quieter as he crept toward the master bedroom and Jack eased open the door, silently swearing when the hinges squeaked.

“Mickey?” Martha’s voice called from the dimly lit room.

Jack felt the crack in his heart widen. He fixed a smile on his face and entered the room. “There’s my nightingale,” he said in a soft but cheerful tone.

“Jack…” Martha whispered his name with equal parts grief and relief. She didn’t bother to sit up on the mattress. “I heard the door and I thought Mickey had come home, that I had dreamed the whole thing.”

His heart broke a little more when he edged closer and stepped on a pile of crumpled tissues. He saw her time ripened face ravaged by tears, the laugh lines around her eyes heavy with wetness. Wordlessly, he joined her on the bed and took her into his arms. Wrapped in the Captain’s protective embrace, Martha began to sob again, wetting the wool of his military coat with her tears.

“It never happens the way you think, does it?” Martha mused through her crying. “Running with the Doctor, you know it’s just a matter of time before you lose someone you love. You think it’ll happen in a Sontaran firefight or Dalek extermination. You think it’ll be because of upgrades during a Cybermen invasion, a touch from a weeping angel when you just can’t keep your eyes open another second…any one of millions of dangers from a thousand different galaxies. It never occurs to you that it’ll happen in a traffic accident on the M1.”

His heart shattered then. Jack’s deep blue eyes began to swim with tears of his own. He stretched out a hand and tenderly brushed away some moisture from her cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Martha,” he said but the words felt so empty. Four words could not adequately convey the sorrow he felt nor the comfort he wished to offer his friend.

Martha gave a shuddering sigh. She began to intently scrutinize the Captain’s features, still amazed that so little had changed in his appearance since the first day she met him at the far end of the universe.

“That’s just really not fair, Jack,” she accused. “You’re not allowed to look so young when I’m getting so old. I’m at least a century younger than you, but I look like I could be your grandmother.”

“Grandmother?!” Jack laughed. “Your grandkids are all under the age of ten. There’s no way I’d pass for your grandchild.”

“OK, your mother then,” Martha amended. “I guess I just feel older.”

“Grief does that to you,” he replied sagely, then lightened his tone. “But you’re still prime cougar material. We can get you some animal print clothes and…”

Martha groaned and buried her face behind her hands. “Ugh…Jack!” Her short, delicate laugh repaired some of the pieces of his broken heart.

She sighed. “Could you do me a favor?”

“Anything,” Jack said quickly, ready to be useful.

“Do you think you could get rid of all the people downstairs? I just want the house empty for awhile. There’s been a steady stream of visitors since it happened.”

“No problem,” he answered, rising from the mattress. “I’ll throw them all out on their asses.”

“No throwing,” Martha retorted. “Use some of that Torchwood diplomacy.”

“That _is_ the Torchwood diplomacy,” he grinned and exited the room.

When Martha finally descended into the silence of the first floor, she found Jack standing alone in her kitchen, pouring two cups of fresh coffee.

“The kids left too?” Martha was astonished not to hear the rambunctious noises of her three grandsons.

The Captain nodded, gesturing for her to sit at the table. “Christina and Charlie were completely knackered and Owen needed to put them to bed. I convinced Ann to take her heathens home too. Thought you’d appreciate the quiet.”

“I do. Thank you,” she took the coffee mug from him.

After a time, Martha managed to find the words she sought. “How do you do it, Jack? How do you handle losing so many people?”

He collected his thoughts. “I don’t really know. I came to terms with it a long time ago, knowing everyone I love will eventually be gone. It’s hard,” he admitted. “But if I didn’t move on, I’d never function.”

“So does that mean a hundred years from now you’ll be sitting in someone else’s kitchen, helping another friend with the loss of her husband?” Martha wondered, her thoughts growing increasingly morbid. “And I’m sure by then you’ll have forgotten all about the Smiths and Joneses of the twenty-first century.”

“Never,” Jack said firmly, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “After everything you and I have been through together, I could never forget you Dr. Jones.”

The moment settled and then it was gone. Outside the kitchen window, the golden afternoon sun was giving away to the rich, vibrant colors of twilight. Jack drained the last drop of his coffee and exhaled loudly.

“Would you like me to stay, Martha?” he offered.

Martha smiled sadly. “So many years ago, before Mickey, before Tom, I would have readily jumped at the chance to be home alone with you Captain Harkness. I’ll admit, I’ve wondered just how innovative your… _dabbling_ is,” she told him. Jack’s eyes twinkled impishly and he laughed heartily.

“But now I’m older, much too old for anything avant garde. Joking aside…it’s best if you go. I have to get used to being alone.”

Jack leaned over and placed an innocent, lingering kiss on her lips. “You might be by yourself now, Martha Jones, but you’re never alone.”

He rose from his place, gathered his coat, and walked out the door without another backwards glance. For the first time in the three decade span of their friendship, Captain Jack Harkness considered a future without Martha Smith-Jones, the brilliant, tenacious, spirited  woman who had saved the world so many times, and he couldn’t bear the thought of it.

* * *

 

Aboard a starship sailing through the Fortier galaxy in the thirty-fourth century, Captain Jack Harkness unlocked a file cabinet and removed a heavy wooden box labeled “ **EARTH, 21 ST CENTURY**.”

A quick knock sounded on the metallic door and Jack looked up to see one of the humanoid members of his crew waiting expectantly at the threshold.

“Captain, the men are waiting for your order before they go to the refectory.”

“Sorry, Iarfhlaith,” Jack apologized and set the box on his desk. “Tell the men to go ahead with chow time.”

“Will you be joining us?”

“Not tonight,” Jack answered.

“Could I bring you something, sir?” Iarfhlaith asked. “Some Protein 7, perhaps?”

“No thank you. I’m perfectly happy with my coffee,” Jack gestured to the mug on his desk.

“Coffee, sir?” Iarfhlaith looked puzzled.

Jack smiled. “It was a popular Earth drink. I'm rather fond of it. I try to always have some around.”

“Whatever you say, sir,” Iarfhlaith commented, thinking to himself the Captain was certainly a strange individual.

“Go on,” Jack waved the officer away. “Off to the canteen.”

Once he was alone, Jack unlocked the heavy box and delved into his former life, of the lives of the people he met in the twenty-first century.

At the top of the unorganized pile of bric-a-brac, Jack found a report card labeled _Rose Tyler, age 9_ and recalled nicking it from Jackie during Rose’s childhood, when he’d been stranded after the burn out of his Vortex Manipulator. She’d obviously gotten some help with her homework, Jack noticed. Her grades had drastically improved during the second quarter.

Rummaging some more, Jack’s fingers grazed a stack of glossy photos. He sighed heavily and braced himself for the onslaught of painful nostalgia.

He smiled when he found pictures of a Torchwood Christmas party. Gwen Cooper and Toshiko Sato were smiling under their bright red Santa hats while Dr. Owen Harper sampled the intoxicating eggnog.

Jack’s eyes welled with emotion when he beheld the final party photo. He and his beloved Ianto Jones were liplocked underneath a sprig of mistletoe. Centuries later, Jack could not recall who had taken the picture, but he could remember the moment perfectly.

Closing his eyes, Jack could feel the fabric of Ianto’s suit beneath his hands, could taste the flavor of Ianto’s kiss on his tongue – a kiss saturated with a hint of strong espresso and the delicate, minty sugar of Christmas candy.

His Ianto…how the Captain missed his coffee boy. Everything was tainted with his memory. Everything Jack wanted to share, everything he experienced, every lover he took, every relationship he had was haunted by the ghost of Ianto Jones. Not that Jack cared. He wore his beloved’s memory proudly, but that did nothing to fill the chasm left by Ianto’s absence.

Turning over the photo, Jack saw a picture of his other favorite Jones.

Dr. Martha Jones, wife to Mickey Smith, mother of Owen and Ann. Served as medic for U.N.I.T. and Torchwood. Companion to the Doctor, friend to many.

Martha Jones, savior of the world.

Jack grinned. Such big accomplishments for such a petite person. His nightingale. He had loved to tease her about her size, always offering to protect her from the monsters when he knew so well she was more than capable of saving herself.

Staring at a family photo of Martha, Mickey and their children, Jack recalled a conversation he’d had with Martha shortly after Mickey’s death and nearly two decades before her own.

_"A hundred years from now you’ll be sitting in someone else’s kitchen…”_ Martha had said, her voice reaching him from the dusty catacombs of time. _“And I’m sure by then you’ll have forgotten all about the Smiths and Joneses of the twenty-first century.”_

"I could never forget you, Dr. Jones,” Jack said aloud, his reverent words absorbed by the cold metal walls of his office.

By now, Jack was the only person alive who could remember the Smiths and Joneses and Tylers, the Nobles, the Coopers, the Williamses. Only he could recall the Harpers and Satos. All of them had long since turned to dust, only to be reanimated in the memories of one immortal man. Forever locked in the mind of an impossible thing.

Jack took some comfort in that. They were all a part of him and he was a fixed point. Fixed points could not be altered. As long as he remained, so would each of them.

Savoring the last drink of his coffee, the Captain began returning the mementos to their place. As he placed the box in the file cabinet and turned the lock, Jack’s Vortex Manipulator began to beep. Confused, he played the message and was startled by a hologram of the Doctor.

“Captain Jack! I need your help, old bean!” the Doctor greeted in his frantic way of speaking. “I seem to have angered River and she’s taken the TARDIS. Left me stranded on Raxacoracofallapatorius wearing nothing but dwarf star alloy handcuffs and a fez. Just follow my coordinates. Oh, and bring a banana.”

Jack laughed until tears brimmed in his eyes. Gaining a measure of composure, he said over the intercom, “Iarfhlaith, my office. And bring me a banana.”

When Iarfhlaith arrived, holding the requested banana and wearing a baffled expression. “Sir?”

Jack pulled on his long, blue military coat and placed the banana in his pocket. “I have a bit of an emergency and a friend needs my help. I’m leaving the ship in your command.”  

Iarfhlaith stared, confounded by his captain’s orders.

"I knew I shouldn’t have given River those handcuffs for her birthday,” the Captain murmured.

“Sir?” Iarfhlaith countenance grew more perplexed.

“It’s nothing,” Jack said. “Remember, you’re in charge until I return.”

“And when will that be, sir?”

“I’m not sure,” Jack replied,  and as he programmed the Doctor’s coordinates into the Vortex Manipulator, his thoughts wandered briefly.

It had been two hundred linear years for him since the last of his Smiths and Joneses had died on Earth and he carried their memories proudly, but the Doctor knew them all as well. Jack realized, he didn’t have to carry the memories of his friends alone. Someone else would share in the joys and pains of recollection.

But first, the Doctor needed rescuing from his wife.

“Don’t worry,” Jack assured Iarfhlaith. “I’ll be back.”

And with a roguish grin and a wink, Captain Jack Harkness teleported from his starship in the Fortier galaxy, bound for Raxacoracofallapatorius.


End file.
